


The Normal Story

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-01-12
Updated: 2002-01-12
Packaged: 2018-11-11 01:37:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11138625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Benny and Ray on a road trip to Normal, Illinois.





	The Normal Story

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

  
The Normal Story

## The Normal Story

by Karen Rossi

Disclaimer: 

Author's Notes: ~~Calvin the cat in this story is real. My beloved Calvin was killed by a car a year and a day after he was born. He was identified by his birthday present, a new blue collar with a gold tag. And he did let the dogs out. I have two dogs, a chocolate lab (Truman) and a golden retriever (Leo). And anytime we would go out, we'd lock the dogs in their cages so they wouldn't destroy the house. But when we'd come home, the dogs would be loose and the house trashed. My husband and I would blame each other for inadequately restraining the dogs. Then one day we watched in complete surprise as Calvin opened the door to the room and then jumped first on Truman's cage and then Leo's releasing each lock with is paw and setting the dogs free. So any time we came back to a destroyed home, we knew who let the dogs out . Calvin.   
~~'Alma' the nurse is me.   
Comments welcome at SayMagnaFeek@cs.com 

Story Notes: This story is the response to a challenge in thecloset.   
In January 2001, this message was in my mailbox: Remember that wonderful "fruitcake challenge"? You know, the one where one list member comes up with a story idea and passes it along to a listsib to write? Well, I have a fruitcake for you! Here's the plot: One of the boys (you choose which) wakes up in the middle of the night with a horrible splitting headache and the other one helps him feel better. Aspirin? Massaging of the head? Cold washcloth? Sex to bang the headache right out of him? None of the above? All of the above? You decide!! Take this fruitcake or pass it on!!   
Well, I wrestled with this fruitcake for a bit, held it up, looked at it this way and that, and then I decided to run with it. The following rather stupid and silly story is the result.   
~~For Shannon, who lobbed a fruitcake in my direction.

* * *

BF/RV -- M/M Pairing  
Rated R  
Language 

The Normal Story   
by Karen Rossi 

The sound of cracking gum, and then: "Can I help you?" 

Fraser cleared his throat and yelled, "Yes..... I'd..... like..... a..... large..... coffee..... with..... cream..... and..... sugar." 

"Anything else?" A bored voice. 

Fraser smiled. He was pleased with himself. Ray was sleeping and he didn't want to disturb him, but he wasn't entirely sure how to handle this. His plan to annunciate clearly and pause slightly between each word had worked; he had been understood. 

"No..... that..... will..... be..... all. Oh..... miss?" 

"Yeah?" 

"I'd..... like..... that..... coffee..... to..... go," he added, stressing the words `to go'. 

Silence. 

Puzzled, Fraser called out, "Miss?" 

"Yeah. Right. To go." 

"Thank..... you..... kindly." 

When he heard his Mountie yelling and speaking like a robot, Ray Vecchio sluggishly opened one eye. Peeking over at his lover from the warm confines of the blanket wrapped snugly around his body, he shook his head sadly. Fraser had been in Chicago for three years and he still had not fully grasped the finer nuances of city life. 

"Frasier." 

"Yes, Ray?" 

"You don't have to tell them you want the coffee 'to go'. They already know that. 'To go' is automatically understood because we are in the drive-thru lane at McDonald's." 

Grasping the steering wheel in a death grip, Fraser arched his eyebrows, considering. "Of course," he said after a moment of reflection. "Right you are, Ray." 

A car horn sounded of an annoyed driver behind them. 

"Frasier, now you pull up to the window to pay." 

"Ah, yes." Fraser turned and smiled beautifully at his lover. "Thank you kindly, Ray." 

Like a sea captain trying to navigate his beloved ship through rocky waters, Fraser stared intensely at the asphalt over the steering wheel. The short ride from McDonald's menu board to the take out window was not only overly cautious but unbelievably slow as well. Their speed further irritated the driver behind them, who once again had taken to sounding his horn to show his displeasure. 

Ray sighed. If Benny's handling of the car was any indication of what the rest of their trip would be like, he estimated that the two hour ride to Normal Illinois would take, ... _oh, approximately four, five days, give or take._

"Benny, why don't you let me drive," Ray suggested, watching as Fraser, concentrating on the road and completely oblivious, drove right past the take out window. 

"Now, Ray. We've been through this. I gave ..." Confused, Fraser glanced at the brick wall beside him. "Now where is that take out window?" 

"Thirty feet behind us." 

Daring to take his eyes off the road for a split second, Fraser glanced into the rear view mirror and saw the perplexed counter-girl hanging out the window, staring at the car, coffee in hand. 

"Oh dear." 

Fraser slammed on the brakes and Ray lurched, forcibly ejected from his warm cocoon of blankets. His head nearly cracked against the windshield. "Frasier! Be careful," Ray snapped as he began to gather the blankets and rewrap his body. 

"Oops. Sorr ..." Fraser started to say as he put the car in reverse, only to stop mid-apology as he once again slammed on the brakes to avoid backing into the honking, and now screaming, driver behind them who had made his purchase and was trying to exit. 

Ray grabbed his neck. "Jesus, Benny! I'm getting whiplash here! Stop being so hard on the brakes!" 

An audible sigh signaled the end of Fraser's losing battle to drive to the take-out window. After putting the car in park, he turned to his friend and held his index finger up. "Half a moment, Ray," the Mountie said as he exited the car. 

"Frasier! Forget the coffee!" 

Fraser never heard him over the barrage of expletives that exploded from the driver behind them. Several colorful expressions later, Ray was fuming. He was trying to think of some charges on which he could arrest the man, but he didn't think that 'screaming at a Canadian' would be punishable under any Illinois law. 

Moments later, Benny appeared at the door with hot caffeine in hand. "Your coffee, Ray." 

"Good. Let's get out of here before I arrest the jerk behind us." 

"Now, Ray. That's hardly necessary," Fraser said as he pulled the car out onto I-55 South. "I believe he was irritated because I harshed his buzz." 

Ray looked at his lover incredulously. "Harshed his buzz?!" 

Fraser nodded sincerely. "Yes. At least, that's what I believe that is what he was yelling ... that I was harshing his buzz. And judging by his obvious anger, Ray, I'm guessing that having someone harsh your buzz is not a good thing." 

"It doesn't take much for you to hop on the clue bus, does it Benny?" 

Fraser shook his head confusingly. "Clue bus?" 

"Never mind. Hey, speaking of locomotion, why don't you let me drive?" 

"Ray. Ray. Ray. You know I can't do that. I gave Mr. Mustafi my word that I alone would drive his car." 

"Well there you go. We have him on a technicality. This is not a car." 

"It most certainly is." 

"Isn't." 

"Is." 

"Frasier, this is a 1977 Gremlin. And never-ever, in the entire history of the world, has a 1977 Gremlin been considered a car. Yugos and Gremlins equal non-cars. It even has an 8-Track player." Ray touched a complicated tangle of wires coming out of the machine. "And it's rigged so it will play. God knows what other creative wiring is going on under the hood. _This_ is no car. _This_ is a metal-plated, fossil fueled, unsafely rigged, poisonous gas producing death machine on wheels." 

"There's no need to exaggerate, Ray. The car is in fine condition and look," Fraser indicated the stickers on the windshield, "the car's recently inspected and obviously passed all the state testing. And I dare say that this Gremlin is as beloved to Mr. Mustafi as the Riv is to you." 

At the very least, Ray could identify that, non-car or no. 

Fraser continued. "Did you know, Ray, that this car was the first purchase Mr. Mustafi made when he came to America? To him, it's more than a car. It's a symbol of freedom and the ability to provide for his family." 

Ray was basking in misery. He was on the losing end of the argument and he knew it. To save dignity he decided to change tactic. "This car has no heat!" 

Fraser glanced over toward his lover completely bundled in several blankets, only his gloved right hand exposed, still holding the untouched coffee. 

"It most certainly does have heat. If you'd just close your window, perhaps it would have the chance to be effective." 

"And breathe in and be killed by whatever toxic gases this car may be spewing? No thank you. I'd rather freeze to death. Besides, you said that you were taking this car to Normal to be fixed. So something's broken." 

"Well. Yes ... there's that but the issue of the car repair is secondary. We're really going for ..." Fraser's voice trailed off into a mumble and a small cough, "... the other things ..." 

From the open windows, the wind whipped around the car. Ray strained to hear. 

"What?" 

"I did promise Mr. Mustafi I'd help him. After his slip and fall on the ice and, as a consequence, his sciatica exacerbating ..." 

"Fraser. I couldn't hear. Did you say there were other things?" 

"He didn't think he'd be able to tolerate the two hour drive to his nephew's drug store in Normal ..." 

"Fraser. What other things?" 

"As for the matter of the car repair, I can assure you, Ray, that the repair is minor and has nothing to do with the proper functioning of the vehicle ..." 

"Answer the question!" 

"I'd never risk your life in an unsafe car, Ray, nor the lives of our fellow travelers. And I'd never want to break down mid-trip. Although I have rudimentary skills at automotive repairs, as you have pointed out, the radio is 'rigged'. That could be a condition that is repeated throughout the car. And if that's the case, it would be a situation where I'd be completely unprepared but I'm prepared for that ..." 

"Frasier! Stop!" 

The car slowed as the Mountie started to brake. 

"No! Not the car! Not the car! The rambling! Stop the rambling!" 

The Canadian resumed the speed of 35 miles an hour. 

"Fraser! You're trying to be evasive and it's not working!" 

The Mountie shot a despairing glance at his lover. _Oh dear. It's not._

Ray was staring at him with the intensity of a wolf who had just spotted a lame deer. 

_Oh no. Not good._ He steeled himself for the inevitable rant that would most certainly follow. 

"Now just tell me. Car repairs and what other things?" 

Ben sighed audibly. _Best to have it over with._

Fraser cleared his throat and in strong voice said, "Fruitcakes, Ray. We are going to get Mr. Mustafi's fruitcakes. And then, of course, there will be the quick side trip to Ottawa for ... ah, ... mouse balls." 

The only sound in the metal-plated, fossil fueled, unsafely rigged, poisonous gas producing death machine on wheels was the sound of the paper cup crunching in the detective's clenched fist. Unnoticed, the cup's hot contents splattered over the detective's gloved hand and his favorite comforter as Ray's buzz got harshed. 

The Italian shrieked. "What?! Fruitcakes?! You mean to tell me we`re driving to Normal Illinois at 6AM on a frigid Saturday morning -- on a mutual weekend off -- for fruitcakes?! Ottawa! I didn't bring my passport! And did you say `mouse balls`? What the fuc ...!" Ray's face constricted in horror. "Wait! Wait! Wait! _Don't_ tell me you're making some weird Inuit potion!" 

"Ray. Calm down. No. I'm not making any Inuit potions. Firstly, we will be retrieving fruitcakes and, this is the important part, the tins they come in." 

"Fruitcake tins?!" 

"Yes. Mr. Mustafi's nephew Harry owns a drug store in Normal. This past holiday season, several dozen tins of fruitcakes went unsold." 

"Imagine that." 

Fraser ignored the sarcasm. "Well, now it's January and past the holidays and the fruitcakes ..." 

"And the tins ..." 

"Yes. That's right ... and the tins have been reduced by 75%. Now Mr. Mustafi enjoys the fruitcakes himself and the tins he sends back to his family in Yemen. Apparently, they store their food and grains in them. As the tins seal tightly, the food stays fresh. His family then is able to eat well, there is less illness, and they are able to maintain work and schooling. As a matter of fact, through Mr. Mustafi's efforts, Harry was able to able to become a pharmacist. It's a small gesture, Ray, but one with profound ramifications." 

"So there's a method to his madness." 

"Yes. I'd say so. As for the mouse balls ..." 

Ray's stomach clenched at the words. He didn't think he _really_ wanted to know. 

Fraser smiled. "I'm afraid I've adopted Mr. Mustafi's rather colorful description for the rubber tracking ball that guides the computer peripheral device, the mouse. You see, Ray, for extra income, Mr. Mustafi does medical billing from his home computer. He spends several hours each day on his work and the tracking ball of his mouse becomes ridged. The mouse then gets unresponsive which adds several minutes to each bill. Mr. Mustafi has a cousin in Ottawa -- Illinois, Ray, not Canada -- who supplies him with tracking balls that do not easily crease and stay more fluid. Since we were already heading to Normal, I didn't think a side trip to Ottawa would pose any problems." 

Ray muttered and shook the coffee droplets from his hand as he repositioned himself in the blankets. "So basically, were on the road for fruitcake tins and hardier mouse balls. Even though this is a mission of mercy, it's a very stupid way to spend a Saturday." 

Fraser glanced at his tense lover. 

"Ray, try and relax. Our task will be accomplished shortly and then we'll have the rest of the weekend together. Would you like to turn on the radio? Maybe we can get WJZZ, the jazz station that you like so much." 

"Yeah. That's a good idea. I'll just ..." 

Fraser saw Ray reach for the radio button. The Mountie's body suddenly bolted with an adrenaline rush; the chemical releasing the primal and instinctive 'fight or flight' survival response throughout him as he suddenly remembered the _reason_ he was taking the car to Normal for repairs ... 

"Noooo!"   
Fraser's scream of pain and terror was simultaneous with the miniscule, but horrifying, click of the `on` button. His warning had come, but far too late. Ray frantically tried to turn the button to off, but Pandora's Box had already been opened. 

Ray stared helplessly at the broken radio knob in his hand. 

The ugly events unfolded and both cop and Mountie were unable to stop it. 

It filled the car at an ear-splitting volume, the heavily syncopated, but catchy, Caribbean rhythm with the repetitive rhetoric refrain ... 

"Who let the dogs out?" Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... "Who let the dogs out?" Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... "Who let the dogs out?" Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... "Who let the dogs out?" Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... 

The men in the car stared blankly at the road before them. 

"Let me guess," Ray said over the din. "This is the reason we're taking the car to Normal for repairs." 

Fraser nodded. "Yes. Mr. Mustafi's niece Alicia's cassette tape is stuck in the converted 8-Track. And they ..... can't get it out," he added needlessly. 

Ray looked at the button in his hand. "And we can't turn it off." 

"No, Ray." 

The cop pressed his face into his hands. 

"Who let the dogs out?" Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... "Who let the dogs out?" Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... "Who let the dogs out?" Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... "Who let the dogs out?" Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... 

Moaning, Ray looked out at the bleak scenery, making a mental list of grievances. One: they were wasting a day of a rare mutual weekend off to get fruitcakes _and_ hardy mouse balls; two: he hated this song; three: he'd have to listen to this song -- no, just the chorus -- until their arrival at Normal, and at this rate, would most likely be Wednesday; four: this was an absolutely stupid way to spend a day; five: he absolutely hated this song; six: they were going 35 miles an hour on the 65 mile an hour highway -- even little old blue-haired ladies were passing them, laughing; seven: he detested this song; eight: this was surely hell. 

"Who let the dogs out?" Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... "Who let the dogs out?" Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... "Who let the dogs out?" Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... "Who let the dogs out?" Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... 

Fraser yelled over the recorded barking. "If it's any comfort, Ray, I know who let the dogs out." 

The Italian sighed miserably. "OK, Frasier. I'll bite. Who let the dogs out?" 

"My cat Calvin." 

"You don't have a cat named Calvin." 

"Well, no. Not now, but I did. When I was twelve we lived in Inuvik and like most families we had small barn that sheltered our dogs. Well, our dogs kept getting out. And if you know anything about Inuit sled dogs, Ray, they're bred to do two things: pull and run. My goodness! What a job it was to catch them after they escaped. Anyway, despite our assurances, grandmother kept insisting that grandfather or I were not properly closing the barn door." 

"So one night, after I had gathered the dogs for a second time, I hid in the barn, watching and waiting. It was then I discovered the young ginger-colored cat that lived in our barn. I watched in complete surprise as he perched on the dog pen and released the lock with his paw. He then ran to the barn door and lifted the lock, attempting to free the dogs a third time that night. I stopped him, of course, and returned the dogs to the pen. He was a very clever and I called him Calvin." 

"Well, after she found out about him, grandmother allowed Calvin to stay as he did a remarkable job of keeping the barn vermin free. During the winter months, he knock on our kitchen door to be let in at night. But during the day, he'd be steadfast and return to the barn. Grandmother became quite attached to Calvin as he seemed to be inordinately fond of her cooking. Grandfather and I rigged several locks, but despite our best efforts, Calvin continued to open them and occasionally let the dogs out." 

"So what became of Calvin?" 

"Well, two years later when we moved, he refused to come with us, preferring to stay with his barn. A family who lived close by were very caring and promised to take of him. I like to think that they were as good as their word. It was very hard leaving him. He was the closest thing I ever had to a pet." 

"I first heard this song when Alicia was having a sleep-over one Friday night. She and her friends must have had the song on repeat as it kept playing over and over. It made me laugh because it made me think of Calvin. I lay in bed that night and after each refrain of 'Who let the dogs out?' I'd answer 'Calvin. Calvin.' 

"Who let the dogs out?" Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... "Who let the dogs out?" Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... "Who let the dogs out?" Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... "Who let the dogs out?" Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... 

Ray replied, "Calvin. Calvin." 

Fraser smiled. 

* * *

Normal Illinois loomed on the horizon and Ray never thought he'd be so glad to see the city. The site brought him such joy, tears gathered in his eyes. He pulled out his handkerchief to dabble at the wetness. 

They would go to Harry's store, Normal Drugs, to collect the fruitcakes and _tins_. While there, he'd get some aspirin for his pounding headache. By sheer coincidence, it was Harry who had rigged, and could fix, the 8-Track. It would all be over. Mr. Mustafi would have his fruitcakes and the festive tins destined for Yemen. And he'd never-ever have to hear this song again. Then the quick trip to Ottawa, without the barking dogs, for mouse balls. He'd return to Chicago, sans headache, tins and balls in tow, and he'd have the rest of his weekend with Benny. It was all so perfect! 

Oh Normal! Beautiful Normal! Ray thought he'd died and gone to Normal heaven! 

And begrudgingly, Ray had to admit that having the chorus "Who let the dogs out?" play continuously was not without its benefits. In a desperate bid to end the trip and stop the music, the song pushed Fraser's heel who, unbelievably, drove the speed limit. The trip was made in two and one-half hours. 

Following instructions from a slip of paper pulled from the pocket of his red-checkered buffalo jacket, Fraser quickly found Normal Drugs and after pulling the car to the loading dock bay, at rear of the store, parked the car. The cop and Mountie just looked at one another and sighed as blessed silence reigned down upon them. 

A handsome young dark-skinned man in a lab coat was waiting at the door on the dock. He walked down the steps to greet them. "Hello! Good morning! You must be Constable Fraser and Detective Vecchio," Harry said as he bent down and looked in Ray's open window. "Uncle Omar told me to expect you. I was just opening the bay door and when I heard "Who let the dogs out?" I knew you must close by," he said smiling. 

The strained look on the faces of the men in the car registered and the pharmacist knew the trip was not an easy one. 

"Ah, can I ask how long has the song been playing?" 

"About fifteen minutes after we started out." 

Harry's face scrunched up in a sympathetic painful grimace. 

"Ouch," he said simply. 

"Ouch indeed," Fraser agreed. 

"Please. Come into the store, get warmed up and help yourself to some coffee. I've gathered the majority of the fruitcakes, but there's still a small display at the front of the store." 

Harry waved his hand to a young employee lounging against the back wall smoking a cigarette, indicating he should come forward. "Joshua will load the hatchback with the cakes while I work on the 8-Track. We'll have the car fixed and you'll be out of here in no time." 

Fraser and Ray spoke simultaneously. "Thank you kindly," said the former; "Bless you," said the latter. 

"Believe me, I understand. Hey! I heard you were going to get Uncle Omar`s mouse balls." 

Joshua stopped mid-step as he walked towards the car. He shook his head. _Nah! Couldn't be._ He just didn't hear that right. 

* * *

At 8:30 A.M., the store was just opening for business. 

As they stepped into the back of the store, the lights flickered on and Fraser and Ray watched as the silhouette of the cashier unlocked the front door. A customer straggled in. 

Ray`s headache was merciless. "Benny, I'm just going to get some aspirin." 

"Yes, Ray. I'll just go and gather the rest of the fruitcakes." 

"OK. I'll meet you up there." Ray watched as his lover began to walk up the feminine hygiene products row towards the front of the store. 

Ray made his way to the food lockers lined along the far wall. He grabbed a bottle of orange juice and opening it, drank half the bottle. He then turned and scanned the small signs hanging above each aisle for the analgesics. He found what he wanted. 

_Ah. Blessed aspirin Aisle Ten._

Once there, Ray grabbed the first non-prescription pain reliever he saw. Opening the bottle, he swallowed two with the remainder of the juice. 

_Oh ... cold packs_ In keeping with the pain relief theme of the aisle, the cold packs were stacked next to the aspirin. They were the re-usable type filled with blue gelatin. Ray knew they'd come in handy. The car was cold enough to chill them. He'd press them to his head and neck on the way to Ottawa ... maybe he'd get some relief from this headache. He pulled four from the shelf. 

Juggling his purchases in his hands, Ray looked around the store and saw Benny, several aisles away and at the front of the store, standing beside the festive cardboard `Give the Gift of Fruitcake!` display, chatting with the obviously smitten cashier. He started to make his way towards them when he spotted the `Fiesta Colored Glow-in-the-Dark Condoms`. Ray held the box in his hand as the whole of Normal Drugs disappeared in a vision .... 

... Ray stood at the foot of bed watching as Fraser lay moaning on the bed, his knees drawn up. Pressing his body between his lover's parted legs, Ray trailed a line of open-mouth lickety kisses down the Mountie's inner thigh causing Fraser's sac to pull up and tighten. Benny's eyes were closed and his arms flung wide, fisting the sheets as Ray pushed against his puckered opening, sheathed in a sassy blue glow-in-the-dark condom. Fraser's back arched bow-like from the bed, his upper body lifting, his beautiful face disappearing below the broad expanse of his chest as Ray entered him. The Mountie was bearing down, increasing his lover's pleasure. The tightness, the heat, the butter-softness deep inside Benny ... pushing ... pulsing ... listening to Benny's groans of pleasure as he teased and touched Fraser's swollen and weeping cock ... watching the blue condom sliding in and out ... 

Uh-oh. That reminded him. They were low on lube too ... placing the glow-in-the-dark condoms on top of the cold packs, Ray snagged a tube from a shelf beside the condoms. Ray looked up. Benny was still chatting with the cashier. He'd have a little fun ... he'd pretend like he didn't know Fraser and go ask him questions `man-to-man' about his prophylactic preferences. Ray smiled ... Benny'd go apple red ... he'd tease him all the way to Otta ... 

The scream of "Nobody Move!" and the resulting terrified squeal of the cashier stopped him mid-thought. 

Ray looked up sharply and took in the scene at once. A man in a black jacket and ski mask pulled own over his face had a gun alternately pointed at the cashier and then Benny. The robber was no professional. His outstretched arm with the weapon was trembling badly, the gun waved dangerously. 

Dropping his purchases and using the merchandise to avoid detection, Ray crouched low and steadily made his way forward up the aisle. 

Benny was calm and was speaking softly to the man. Ray couldn't hear the words ... but without a doubt it was ... 

The robber yelled and swung the gun at Benny`s head. "Listen! I don't give a shit about Eskimos or caribou!" 

_Yep_ , Ray thought, _it's an Inuit story._

"Just have her open the safe, hand over the money, and I'll be on my way!" 

The cashier was crying. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I don't know the combination!" 

The gun swung back at the cashier. "Bull-fucking shit! Now open it!" 

He was too far away, but maybe Fraser saw the perp's finger tightening on the trigger. Ray only saw Benny lunge forward and grab the man's outstretched arm just as the report of a gun sounded, shattering the store's front window. 

The cashier screamed and ran out of the door as Benny struggled with the robber. An alarm, probably sounded by Harry, split through the store. The gun flew out of the robber's hand and over the counter just as he rounded on Benny, punching him squarely in the face. Locked in their struggle, they both fell and disappeared behind the merchandise. 

Ray's yell of 'Police! Freeze!' could not be heard over the alarm. 

The perp was the first one to stand from the Mountie-Robber tangle. His ski mask was lost in the struggle and Ray saw that the perp was just a kid -- about seventeen years old, if that. Gun-less, the robber grabbed the first weapon he could find ... the heavy brandy-soaked Christmas cakes from the 'Give the Gift of Fruitcake!' display. He scooped up an armful and frisbee-like, started to throw the tins at Fraser. 

The Mountie neatly dodged the odd attack as he as he charged down the feminine hygiene products aisle just a few steps behind the perp. 

Ray changed tactic and turned, running parallel to the robber down the Aisle Ten, intending to cross the back of the store to intercept the kid as he headed towards the loading dock. Ray was flying down the length of the store. He was very close to interception. All of his attention was riveted on Aisle One, he never saw the twelve packs of Coca-Cola -- on sale, two for five dollars -- neatly stacked at the end of the row. His right foot caught on the boxes and he fell hard, badly jarring his left knee and shoulder and knocking the breath from him. His gun flew from his hand and skittered across the floor. 

Precious seconds passed and he was able to stand just in time to see the kid fling the last awkwardly shaped tin. 

Benny ducked, but not enough, and the tin slammed into his forehead at close range. 

Every action has an equal and opposite reaction and the physics of the scenario was astonishing. Ray guessed that the Mountie's speed, forward motion, and thickness of his head combined with the brick-like density of the cake caused the tin to ricochet off Fraser's scalp and fly into the circuit breaker near the ceiling. Ray saw Benny spin, his eyes rolled up into his head, and fall just as octagon-shaped fruitcake tin wedged into the circuit breaker. 

The perp disappeared out the back door. 

Sparks flew, the alarm stopped, and the store was thrown into darkness as the fruitcake interrupted the store's circuitry. In the silence, Ray could hear the hissing sound and smell the burning brandy as the fruitcake became electrified. 

In seconds, the tin swelled as the cake cooked and sizzled. The sizzling sound amplified and became a roar as sparks turned to blue flame and began to spread down the wall. The brandy in the fruitcake, acting as fuel, gave the tin jet-like propulsion. 

Exploding from the circuit breaker, the red-hot tin rocketed across the length of the store while flaming chunks of fiery fruitcake rained down in its wake. 

"Benny!" 

The flames provided light and, as he ran towards Aisle One, Ray saw a movement in Aisle Five. An empty stroller rolled down the passageway. And just past it, a hysterical young woman knelt huddled on the floor, bodily covering her baby. Now that the alarm was silenced, he could hear both of them screaming. 

_Oh no!_ He cast a desperate glance towards the flames in Aisle One. There was no movement. He sent a prayer heavenward for his Benny's safety as he ran towards the young woman. 

"Come on! We have to go! The store's on fire! We have to get out of here!" Ray placed a hand on the woman's shoulder. "Please!" 

The young woman looked up at him, her face pale and tear-streaked. Incoherent and stunned she screamed. "My baby! My baby! I just wanted to get some diapers for Michael!" 

"I know. I know. We'll get diapers. But we have to leave now." Ray took her arm and tried to pull the woman to a standing position. 

"No! No!" She screamed and pulled away from him. "There's a robber out there! I don't want him to hurt my baby!" 

"He's gone now and I`m a cop. Please. We have to leave." With his greater strength fueled by adrenaline rush, Ray lifted the woman to standing. 

Terrified, she grabbed Ray like a life-line. The screaming baby jiggled in her arms. For safety, Ray carefully took the infant from her and settled him securely against his chest. 

"We're leaving by the back. OK? It's closer." 

Tightly gripping Ray's arm and in profound shock, she babbled. "I just wanted to get diapers for Michael. I just wanted to get diapers for Michael. I just wanted to get diapers for Michael." 

Ray watched in dread as the flames extended down the wall and across Aisle One. Still no sign of Benny. He instinctively soothed the screaming infant as he struggled to pull the panicked woman towards the end of the aisle. 

He glimpsed the movement of a white lab coat around the corner. "Harry!" Ray screamed. "Harry!" 

Mr. Mustafi's nephew appeared at the door by the loading dock and, seeing Ray's burden, ran towards them. 

"Harry! Take them!" 

The pharmacist carefully lifted the baby from the safety of Ray's chest while the Detective peeled the terrified woman off of his arm. Harry grabbed the young the woman and turned down the hallway, leading the family to safety. 

Sprinting away, Ray continued his run towards Aisle One. Reaching it, he saw an entire section aflame. The wall and shelving full of sanitary napkins were burning. Fruitcake chunks littered the floor. Boiling cans of feminine hygiene spray were exploding, flying across the aisle in a heated arc. Hot, fragrant mists of vanilla, spring, and floral scents showered the area as the cans flew overhead. 

And unconscious in the middle of the row, twisted half on his back, half on his side, his head covered in blood, lay ... 

**"BENNY!"**

The feminine spray coated the floor making it slippery. Years of practice of 'knowing when to duck' came in handy and Ray, ignoring the slicing pain in his knee and shoulder, expertly dodged the erupting and flying cans as he ran down the aisle. 

Like the rest of the flooring, Fraser was covered in pearly beads of warm spray and chunks of exploded fruitcake. Ray quickly swiped the smoldering fruitcake pieces from his lover's body. 

Stooping down, he pulled Benny up into his arms and then over his shoulder. He ran out of the building through the back door. 

Once on the loading dock bay, Ray knew immediately that Harry had phoned emergency services. He could hear the police and fire engines sirens scream, heading towards Normal Drugs. 

Glancing around, he saw Harry and Joshua escorting the young woman and her son into the safety of a restaurant several stores away. 

It was then he saw the perp, speeding across the empty parking lot in a rusted blue van. 

Standing with Benny draped over his shoulder, Ray pulled his gun and aimed at the front tire. He waited for the moment when the van was in front of him. The report of a gun sounded across the parking lot; his shot was true. The left front tire exploded and unraveled just as the van hit an ice patch. 

The perp was frantically turning the steering wheel trying to regain control of the vehicle. 

Ray smiled and felt a warm glow of satisfaction go through him as he watched the police vehicles enter the driveway at the far end of the mini-mall. 

There was no way the robber would escape. 

In a last desperate bid to escape the advancing police, the perp made a sharp left turn. 

Ray watched as the vehicle spun well and truly out-of-control. Turning in complete circles, the van rotated its way towards the loading dock. 

And Mr. Mustafi's car. 

Ray's color and smile faded. "Oh my God!" 

Trying to physically distance them from the oncoming crash, Ray ran backwards several steps with the still unconscious Benny slung over his shoulder. 

It was horrible. 

It was ugly. 

Ray didn't want to look, but he couldn't take his eyes off of Mr. Mustafi's pride and joy. The metal-plated, fossil fueled, unsafely rigged, poisonous gas producing death machine on wheels was about to be squished like a grape under a wine-maker's heel. 

It was inevitable. 

No power on earth could stop it. 

Ray watched helplessly. 

The van slammed side-long into the Gremlin accompanied by the deafening sound of crunching metal and breaking glass. Ray turned his face to the side and reflexively threw up his arm to deflect the flying shards of glass. 

The van shuttered against the ex-non-car and came to a stop. 

Thoroughly crushed between the concrete wall of the loading dock and the perp's escape vehicle, Mr. Mustafi's beloved symbol of freedom, and his fruitcakes, were mashed into an untidy rectangle no more than three feet wide. 

Open-mouthed and speechless, Ray stared at the devastation as Benny began to stir on his shoulder. 

And deep from within the squashed and steaming metal mass came a sound. 

At first bodiless and thin, it quickly reached jack-hammer volume. The sprightly island rhythm filled the parking lot. 

"Who let the dogs out?" Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... "Who let the dogs out?" Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... "Who let the dogs out?" Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... "Who let the dogs out?" Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... Woof ... 

To which the awakening Benny replied, "Calvin. Calvin." 

* * *

The radiologist at Normal Community Hospital interpreted the film. The x-ray was negative for any skull fractures. But when Fraser's disorientation, lethargy, and nausea persisted, a CT scan was ordered. It came back without any evidence of swelling or internal bleeding. Now that the principle diagnostics were out of the way and no other more serious interventions would likely be necessary, the doctor turned his attention to suturing his patient's facial laceration. 

Ben lay with his face and upper chest entirely covered by a sterile barrier drape, only the deep gash to his left brow exposed. 

After assuring the doctor he wasn't the fainting type, Ray was permitted to sit at Fraser's side during the procedure. Providing comfort, Ray placed his left hand over the light flannel blanket that covered Benny and held his forearm. 

After numbing the area, the doctor skillfully placed hundreds of tiny sutures into the wound to minimize scarring. 

Chatting with the resident while he worked, Ray had the doctor laughing out loud as he exaggerated the electric flying fruitcake events at Normal Drugs. 

But, in reality, Ray could not have been further removed from the conversation. 

While his left hand was a generic display of a friend giving comfort, his right hand was hidden, slipped under the blanket, clasping Benny's hand tightly. All of his energy was concentrated on the man laying under darkness of the sterile barrier. Unspoken, Ray's touch conveyed everything. 

His fears for Ben's health and safety, his anger at the wound that would mar his lover's beautiful face, his care, his concern, his support, his strength, his love were amply transmitted to Fraser simply through the touch of his hand. 

And Benny received. 

When the Mountie tensed with pain as the doctor probed a tender area, Ray knew. He'd rub his thumb over the back of Fraser's hand, distracting him, easing the pain. When Benny was sweating and battling nausea, Ray knew. He'd slide his palm down over the Mountie's fingers, squeezing gently, calming his stomach. When Benny was hurting, his old back injury in fiery spasms from laying still so long, Ray knew. He'd slide his fingers back and forth on Benny's palm, releasing the painful tension. 

As always, words between them were unnecessary. 

During the entire procedure, the doctor never knew of the volumes that were spoken, of the hidden love given and received, through two clasped hands. 

* * *

As he placed a sterile dressing over the delicate sutures and taped it into place, the doctor explained that Fraser's discharge from the Normal Community Hospital, at this time, was `iffy`. Although aware, the Mountie's conversations were rambling with some confusion evident; observation by the medical staff was still necessary. The game plan was now to let the patient rest and `watch and wait'. Frequent checks, to monitor Ben's fluctuating neurological status and mentation, were ordered to insure that no cranial insults were in the process of developing. 

The contaminated tray of instruments was removed by the housekeeping staff as the day shift nurse administered another neuro check: flashing lights in Ben's eyes, making him follow commands, asking questions to which he ground out appropriate but slurred responses. Smiling, she wrote down the results of her assessment on his chart as she assured them both that the results, while only fair, were consistent with improvement. After a quick check of the drip rate to Fraser's IV, she swished out of the cubicle once again. 

Helping Fraser get into a more comfortable position, Ray elevated the head of the stretcher. Locking his arm around Fraser's, he gently pulled the Mountie forward and straightened the sheets bunched behind Ben's back. 

As Ray settled him back on the stretcher, Benny's face had a pinched look to it, his mouth drawn into a thin line. Ray could tell his nausea was severe. And his head looked bad. The dressing covered the stitches but the bruising and swelling on his face had spread to his left eye and upper cheek. He knew it had to hurt like hell. 

To add to his discomforts, Ray thought Benny had a slightly perplexed look about him, almost as if he wasn't entirely sure what was happening. 

Taking comfort in the nurse's word that the neuro assessment was stable, Ray pushed his fears aside and concentrating only on Benny, placed a soft pillow under his lover's head. 

Tension from holding himself still during the long stitching procedure started to dissipate and Fraser began to tremble. Searching the cubicle for a heavier blanket, Ray found a thermal blanket and covered him warmly. 

After removing Ben's hiking boots and dropping them to the floor, Ray just stood holding Ben's socked feet in his hands. 

The Mountie wiggled his toes playfully. 

Fraser smiled at his lover. "Come're Ray," he said softly as he extended his arm down the stretcher. Reaching out, he pulled Ray to his side and his hand to his lips. Ben kissed a line of tiny kisses across his fingers. "Thank you," he said as he fell soundly asleep. 

* * *

Nearly hours six later, Ray was exhausted. 

And as mad as hell. 

First, there had been the visit by the Normal Police Department to get Ray's statement. Although they were grateful that he removed a panicked customer from the fire scene, they were less than enthusiastic about his out-of-jurisdiction gun use. No doubt a departmental reprimand would be waiting for him when he returned to work on Monday. 

Not that he gave a fuck. 

And then, although Fraser had not been released yet, the neuro checks had been stable, and the doctor reported that discharge seemed likely. Ray felt that he should start to arrange for transportation back to Chicago. Because they interfered with the hospital equipment, cell phone use was banned. Which meant Ray had to leave Fraser's side and use the pay phone in the waiting room. Trying to secure a vehicle, he phoned Normal Rent-a-Car. There was an Oldsmobile on the lot which would be large enough so Benny could lay down comfortably during the ride back. He was about the conclude the arrangement when he ran out of coins mid-conversation, which ended the call prematurely. No one had any change to spare, which meant a trip to the hospital's gift shop to buy a twenty dollar calling card in order to conclude a thirty-five cent conversation. Between the calling card's phone accessing number, the personal identification number on the card, and then Normal Rent-a-Car number, Ray felt as if he had just dialed a string of digits longer than pi. When he finally reconnected to the rental agency, he found out, in the space ten minutes, the Oldsmobile had been rented. That left Ray with a 1999 Chevy mini-van. 

And now, using the time on his newly purchased calling card, Ray owed a call to Mr. Mustafi. Unsurprisingly, Harry had already contacted his uncle and informed him of the unfortunate events. Not that Ray was told any of this, he could tell by the way Mr. Mustafi started screaming at him as soon as he heard the Detective's voice. The old man was livid and Ray could do little to placate the irate Mustafi. 

The old man shouted. " _He_ burnt down the feminine hygiene products aisle at my nephew's store!" 

" _He_ did not! Your goddamn fruitcake did! _He_ saved it from being robbed!" 

"Fraser should have let him have the money! Harry's insured for that! But a fire! Harry's store will be closed for weeks! Oh my God! I entrust Fraser with _one_ small responsibility! And look what happens! Harry`s feminine hygiene products aisle ..." 

Mr. Mustafi groaned. "My fruitcake tins! And my car! It's not just a car! It's a symbol ..." 

"Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. I heard about that." 

"You sound like you don't believe me! It's true!" 

"You're right I don't believe it! You made that story up!" 

"And what about my mouse balls?!" 

"You want mouse balls? Go search a rodent." 

"I'm suing! For a thousand dollars I`m suing for my pain and suffering!" 

Ray choked. "What?! A thousand dollars?! Pain and suffering for what?!" 

"The grievous loss of my symbol of freedom!" 

"That's it! I had enough. Listen, Mr. Mustafi, and listen good. _You_ are not getting one dime from Benny for that piece of shit car ..." 

"Oh yes I will! I've already contacted an attorney. And he said ..." 

Ray pulled the phone away from his ear while the litigious Mr. Mustafi continued to rant. 

_Oh Jesus Christ! Just what Benny needs!_

If he could have his way, he'd slam the phone down right now. And the next time he saw Mr. Mustafi, he'd slap him upside the head. But it wasn't him, it was Fraser. And the thought of Benny worrying over something as stupid as this was more than he could bear. As much as he _hated_ to do anything for Mr. Mustafi right now, he have to do _something_ if only to spare Benny. 

Ray put the phone to ear. He interrupted the old man who was still foaming at the mouth. 

"Mr. Mustafi, I think I know someone who can help. Just give me five minutes and I'll call you back. Stay by the phone and _don't_ call any more lawyers." 

* * *

Ray always hated it when his cousin Al whined; it was incongruous with his age, bald head, and size. 

It didn't seem to bother Al at all, so he whined. "But, Raay! Why does it have to be the Chrysler? It`s a classic!" 

"Because it's the only un-owned car on your lot! You got it for free! It has low mileage and the body's in good shape." 

"The Chrysler?! Raay! I just had it painted Champagne-Creme! I could get $900.00 for it right now!" 

"And I've squashed three times that amount of money in Scoff Law tickets for you. Besides, for twenty-five years, it`s only been taking up space in you garage. You've been trying to give it away for as long as I can remember." 

That was true. When his shop opened in 1976, the Chrysler was one of the first cars brought to him for servicing. The owner, unable to pay for the repairs, told Al to keep the car until he could come up with the money. The owner never returned and the car had been sitting on cinder blocks in the back of his garage ever since. 

"But, I`ve ... sort of ... grown attached to it." 

"Al. Please. It's important. I need the Chrysler." 

Silence. 

"All right. But Ray, we're even now. And if Aunt Angelina wants her bathroom re-tiled, you're doing it with me. Deal?" 

"Deal." 

* * *

"Mr. Mustafi." 

"What?" 

"I've gotten a beautiful replacement car for you. A gift, from me to you, for your pain and suffering." 

"Humph." The old man was apparently unconvinced. 

"You ready? It's a 1975 Chrysler Cordoba." 

The sharp intake of breath in Chicago could clearly be heard in Normal. 

Although he wasn't the outdoorsy-type, Ray was an excellent fisherman. He could always tell when one was nibbling. 

"Is it in good condition?" 

"Tip. Top." 

Time to add more scent to the lure. 

"The Cordoba is one of the finest automobiles in its class. It is the precedence setting standard for all luxury coupes. It has beautiful styling: a spacious interior, luxurious appointments, curvaceous hood lines, and a landau roof. The instrument panel has a burlwood look and on the exterior, there are opera windows with vertical lighting. It has a V8 engine, there's less than thirty thousand miles on the odometer, its recently repainted, and has been under the care of a certified mechanic for twenty-five years. And did I forget to mention that the Cordoba has fine _Corinthian_ leather?" 

"Is that _genuine_ Corinthian leather?" 

"As if there's anything else! And the color ...," Ray gave a dramatic pause, "... butternut." 

Silence. 

Ray smiled into the phone. He could always tell when he hooked a fish. 

More silence. And then, "Deal." 

"Good! It's a deal then. I'll have my cousin Al drive it over now." 

"I'll be looking for it." 

"Let me just say you know fine automobiles. And, Mr. Mustafi ... you'll call your lawyer ...?" 

"Yes. The incident has been settled to my satisfaction." 

* * *

A change of shift meant another nurse was preparing to administer yet another neuro check. Alma, the middle-aged nurse as wide as she was tall, had a humorless and acidic look about her. She touched her patient on the shoulder and gave him a gentle shake. 

"Mr. Frasier." All business. 

Slowly awakening, the Mountie knew the drill. Blinking against the harsh overhead lighting and those being flashed in his eyes, he answered the questions and followed the commands issued by the nurse. 

Fraser looked blearily around the curtained cubicle. A frequently interrupted deep sleep with vivid dreams made for a hazy reality. His head injury combined with sleep deprivation made Ben increasingly exhausted ... and confused. 

He was having a hard time figuring what was real. There was a nurse writing in a chart beside him and he was obviously in a hospital. But ... where was Ray? Panic surged and gripping the railing of his stretcher, Ben sprang forward ... his nausea and dizziness doubled ... this was a hospital ... Ray! Was Ray hurt? No. No. Ray was safe. He clearly remembered his lover beside him ... holding an emesis basin for him while he vomited ... giving him a cup of mouthwash to clear the bitter taste from his mouth ... that was the _only_ thing that had any clarity. 

Fraser relaxed back against the stretcher and closed his eyes. How he wished Ray were here. He'd explain everything to him. 

He started to drift away. Somewhere, "Who Let the Dogs Out?" was playing loudly. Was it a radio? Was it Mr. Mustafi's car? Was it in his head? Didn't matter. Either way, his response was ingrained. 

"Calvin. Calvin." 

Finishing her documentation of the exam, Alma turned to the young janitor mopping the floor by Fraser's cubicle. "He wants you." 

Calvin Joseph looked up from his duties. 

"Who?" 

The nurse indicated Fraser with a wave of her chin. 

"Him." 

Calvin looked startled. "Him? Why?" 

"I don't know. He just asked for you." 

The janitor stepped into the cubicle and looked at Fraser. "I don't know him." 

"Well _he_ knows you." 

Her patient mumbled. "Calvin. Calvin." 

Alma felt vindicated. "See?" 

Calvin shrugged and gently touched the man on the shoulder. The exhausted looking patient awoke at the touch, and looked up at the nurse and janitor on either side of the stretcher. 

"Yes ...?" 

The janitor asked, "Do you know me? `Cause I don`t think I know you." 

"Pardon?" 

"Do you know me or do I know you?" 

"Ah ... I don`t ..." 

"You were just asking for him," the nurse interjected, irritated. 

Fraser pointed to the janitor. "Him?" 

"Yes, him. There's only one `him' here." 

"I was? I'm terribly sorry. I'm not sure why I'd be asking ..." It was then Fraser noticed the janitor's name tag. He laughed softly. "It's all right. I was just calling my cat." 

Alma's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Do you see a cat?" 

"You see, "Who Let the Dogs Out" was just playing and my cat, Calvin," Fraser pointed meaningfully at the janitor, "used to let the dogs out." 

The nurse looked at Fraser like he was a specimen under a microscope. Alma pulled her pen light out and re-checked the pupillary response of Ben's eyes. "The song? Did you just hear it now?" 

The lights flashed in Ben's eyes. "Yes ... it's on Mr. Mustafi's radio ..." 

Calvin interjected. "You know, that's not a children's song like everyone thinks. It's really about male sexual aggression. 'Dogs' is a phallic reference ..." 

The nurse gave Calvin an icy stare cutting him off mid-statement. 

"I had ... a class in the philosophy of music ...," he defended himself meekly as Alma scribbled her nursing observations, confusion and auditory hallucinations, on the Mountie's chart. She left the cubicle hurriedly to find a doctor to report her patient's deteriorating status. 

Fraser put a hand to his aching brow. He wished Ray were here to explain it to her. Everything was all so ... hazy ... he wished he could just figure out what happened. He remembered ... he remembered ... vomiting ... and before that ... getting Ray's coffee ... and then ... What exactly? ... Were they in Normal? Ottawa? Did he have a concussive episode? Judging by the intensity of his headache, he did ... and some degree of amnesia usually resulted ... Did they even arrive at Harry's drug store? 

Memories were starting to come back ... yes ... yes they did ... there was the robber and the fruitcakes ... 

"Now I remember! I was hit by a fruitcake!" 

Calvin straightened. "No! Is that you? Were you in the fruitcake fire?" 

"Fruitcake fire?" 

"Yeah! It's been on the radio all day. Some store was burnt down by -- get this -- an electrified fruitcake." 

"An electrified fruitcake? Was anyone hurt?" 

The janitor tried to remember the detail. "Yeah. Someone went to the hospital with minor injuries." 

Fraser searched his faulty memory. No. He was sure of it. There was no fire. "No. I wasn't there. But I was at a drug store where there was an attempted robbery by a man wielding fruitcakes as a weapon." 

The janitor shook his head at the coincidence. "Who would have ever thought of that! Two fruitcake incidents in one day." 

Fraser was stunned. "What are the odds?" 

Calvin tightened his grip on the mop handle. "I swear. It's getting weird around here. Normal ain't so normal anymore," he said as Alma and the doctor entered the room. 

The janitor exited and held the curtain open allowing Ray to enter just as the concerned-looking doctor was flashing the pen light into Fraser`s eyes. 

Ray`s blood pressure shot up alarmingly. "Ohmigod! What's wrong?" 

The constipated looking nurse spit the words out. "He's disoriented." 

"What? He's been stable for hours! What happened?" 

Fraser pleaded, "Ray! Please tell her about Calvin and the song. I don`t think I made it clear," as he turned away from the doctor's light. The Mountie tossed the blankets off and started to frantically grope around the front of his dungarees. 

"He's been rambling about "Who Let the Dogs Out" and a cat named Calvin." 

Ray`s body deflated with relief. "It's OK. He's not disoriented. He's referring to an incident that happened this morning before his injury." 

"Ray!" Fraser cried. "I don't have any mouse balls!" 

The nurse smiled unpleasantly at Ray and raised an eyebrow. Her condescending demeanor screamed 'explain that one.' 

"Trust me. That comment makes perfect sense. It's not brain damage." 

The doctor spoke. "So he's not confused and disoriented?" 

"No more than usual." 

* * *

Because nurses' notes carry considerable weight and Alma's documentation reported that Fraser was confused, his Emergency Room stay was increased by two hours. Ray protested and tried to set the record straight but his heart wasn't in the fight. He didn't really care. The longer the Mountie was monitored, the more safe Ray felt. The lengthened stay would only become dangerous if Benny became more wakeful and started a conversation with his dead father -- which he was prone to do. The Italian prayed to God that wouldn't happen. It would be difficult to explain _that_ behavior away. Ray was certain he'd have a hard time fending off the surgeons wanting to take Fraser to the OR to crack his head open. 

But, thankfully, Benny stayed lucid and his dead father did not interfere. The doctors could no longer justify Fraser's stay and he was discharged. 

Alma had gone over the discharge instructions with Ray, her black pen checking off tiny boxes as they went down the page, indicating that Ray understood each of the doctor's orders. 

As much as Ray hated it when Fraser was sick, Benny hated it even more. As Ray dressed his lover, the Mountie became cranky. The over-heating in the Emergency Room had only added to the discomfort of the lower temperature loving Canadian. When Ray wrapped his own scarf around Fraser's exposed neck and upper chest, Benny pulled at the expensive cashmere complaining that it was too itchy. When Ray carefully placed his leather skull cap on Fraser's head at a tilt to avoid touching the Mountie's swollen and painful brow, Benny quickly pulled it off. Thanking Ray for the kind gesture, he stated he'd much rather wear his Stetson. Ray agreed that he would prefer Fraser to wear his Stetson too, but as `the hat' was in Chicago and they were still in Normal, that was not an option. Ray wanted to add that if Fraser had worn the-Stetson-that-protected-him-from-all-things-evil-including-flung-fruitcakes in the first place, none of this would have happened. But at the sight of his dazed and chagrined lover, he held his tongue. In the end a gentle pleading of 'please, Benny ... wear it for me' was all that was needed. 

Just as he got a wavering Fraser into the wheelchair, Harry stopped by. Explaining that investigations and interviews by the police, fire, and insurance company had delayed him several hours, he offered his deepest thanks to both Ray and Fraser for their efforts and apologized profusely for his Uncle Omar's behavior. As a token of his gratitude, he provided the food, supplies, and medications that were necessary for recovery from a head injury. Cases of ginger-ale, Jello, chicken noodle soup, tea, boxes of aspirin, cold packs, gauze bandages and paper tape were stacked elbow high on a dolly just outside of the emergency room doors. 

Harry also asked Ray if he could deliver a gift to his Uncle Omar. From his coat pocket, the pharmacist pulled out a computer mouse in its plastic package. Turning the device over, Harry explained that it was a 'laser mouse'. 

"See? No balls," he added with a smile. 

Normal Rent-a-Car had dropped the mini-van off at the hospital and Ray gave the keys to Harry so he could load the cases into the back. 

The January night was bitterly cold. Stopping just before the doors of the exit in the warmth of the Emergency Room, Ray made a quick and final inspection of Benny. The skull cap and scarf were still in place and the Cop gave a final tug to the zipper of Fraser's jacket, which still smelled of a combination of vanilla and spring scent, to make sure it was up as far as it would go. Moving the wheelchair towards the door, the automatic entryway slid open. The two were blasted by cold air. Ray pushed the wheelchair across the windy parking lot just as Harry was finishing loading the last of the cases into the back of the Chevy. 

Fraser was looking around the nearly empty lot and was becoming more restless as they neared the van. Suddenly, they stopped mid-way and Ray could not move the wheelchair forward because Benny had grabbed the wheels with his gloved hands. 

Ray was alarmed. "Benny ... what's wrong?" 

Fraser stared at Harry and the van. "Ray ... where is Mr. Mustafi's car?" 

Ray sighed. "Benny ... do I have a story to tell you." 

* * *

The lights of Chicago twinkled in the distance. 

Although it was only 7:30 P.M., the highway was deserted this bitterly cold January night. Ray skillfully maneuvered the boxy Chevy mini-van towards his hometown. This day had been a complete disaster and he'd never thought he'd be so glad to leave Normal. 

Drifting in and out of sleep, Benny lay curled on the middle seat of the van, secured by both sets of seatbelts, one across his chest the other across his thighs, so he wouldn't fall off the seat during the ride. 

Ray would prefer to take Benny to his house. It was certainly more comfortable, there would be plenty of food and his mother would take excellent care of Benny. But his cousin Julia was getting married and his house was flooded with twelve out of town visitors for her surprise Bridal Shower tomorrow. Ray's cousin Gina and her two young daughters were assigned to his room and he had already been relegated to the old sofa in the utility room for the weekend. 

Ray sighed. They'd just have to go to Benny's apartment. Fraser would take the bed, of course, and he'd have to sleep in Mrs. Kresjopalov's chair. Unable to care for herself any longer, Mrs. Kresjopalov left the building to live with her cousins in Iowa. Because she didn't want to clutter their already filled home, she distributed her few possessions among the various residents at West Racine. Fraser received several items which he could not refuse -- her souvenir spoon collection with seventeen of the fifty states missing, eight china tea cups with mismatched saucers, a walnut magazine rack, and best of all, a large over stuffed chair with a matching ottoman. Ray liked the well kept chair with the tapestry fabric. It was very comfortable. He'd sleep there. 

Finally, fourteen hours after their hellish day began, Ray pulled the mini-van up in front of West Racine and parked. 

After checking that his beloved Riviera was still there and apparently safe, Ray spied Mr. Mustafi's brand new used Chrysler Cordoba parked under the protection of a street light. Ray's jaw fell open as he gaped at the vehicle. No damn wonder Al was so upset to lose the car! With its Champagne-Creme exterior and its butternut interior, the beautiful car looked ... golden ... almost as if it had been touched by Midas himself. The drab neighborhood made it look even more dazzling. 

Ray finally closed his mouth and swallowed hard as he finally looked away from the car. 

Well. He certainly owed Al. 

Big time. 

Ray woke Benny and with effort, started to guide the larger man through the hallway and the three flights of stairs. Fraser tripped over his own feet and nearly fell several times. Only Ray's strength and whispered encouragements kept him from toppling. The noise in the hallway alerted some Fraser's neighbors and several of them decided to investigate the disturbance. The West Racine residents that flooded the hallway were shocked and upset at their Mountie's condition and appearance. Mr. Charlton supported the Canadian's other side and along with Ray, got Fraser moving steadily. Mr. Klein and Mr. Campbell offered to help and passing them the keys, Ray told them about the cases of supplies piled in the back of the van. They arranged for a group of men to unload and carry the food and supplies up the three flights of stairs. 

Safely making it to apartment 3J, Ray shooed Dief off of the bed. Ray and Mr. Charlton deposited a now very pale Fraser onto the spot the wolf had just occupied. The cases of food from Harry were lined up on the kitchen counter while Mrs. Garcia and Mrs. Gamez opened them and put the food away while Mrs. Duffy took some boxes of Jello and offered to cook it. 

Ray remembered the laser mouse and asked Mr. Klein to give it Mr. Mustafi and say it was from his nephew Harry. He didn't feel like seeing Fraser's neighbor right now. His anger was still palpable. 

The parade of concerned West Racine neighbors quickly ended. Finally alone, Ray carefully undressed Benny and helped him into his favorite red long johns. After tucking Fraser into bed, Ray went to the kitchen to heat up a can of chicken noodle soup and make a cup of tea. Benny needed to eat and the wolf was hungry. 

After filling Dief's bowl with kibble, Ray watched the animal devour his food. The cop accused the wolf. "You knew something was going to happen today, didn't you? That`s why you didn`t want to come ... am I right?" Dief just gave the Italian a small lupine smile and continued to eat. As Ray stirred the boiling soup he realized he`d have to listen to the wolf more. 

The small meal Ray prepared was a bust. 

The arduous three flight climb up the stairs had left Benny weak and nauseated. Ray did not have the power of his mother and his cajoling was nearly useless. Fraser could only manage a few spoonfuls of soup and a half cup of tea. 

The pillows from behind Fraser's back were removed and Ray lowered his lover to the bed. After a kiss to the tip of Benny's nose followed by one to his lips, Ray purred comforting words and stroked the undamaged side of Benny's beautiful face and jaw until the Mountie was sound asleep. 

Ray was settling himself into Mrs. Kresjopalov's chair just as there was a soft knock on the door. It was Mr. Mustafi. Ray's anger flared and he stared hard at the old man. 

"Is Frasier here? I just wanted to speak to him and you ... to thank you for what you both did for Harry ... and me ..." 

"Sure. He's here," Ray said as he took a small step aside. 

The low lighting of the hallway light spilled into the room and across the Canadian's body. It had the effect Ray wanted. 

The Mountie looked ghastly. 

Mr. Mustafi gasped when he saw Fraser. 

The harsh light made his skin look pasty and caused the bruise that was his left eye and cheek to darken. Severe shadows exaggerated the hollows of Fraser's face which was constricted with discomfort, even in sleep. 

"Oh my God! Listen ... I just wanted to say I'm sorry for what I said and the way I acted. It wasn't right. I was upset. Harry told me everything that you and Frasier did. I wasn't right ... I'm sorry. I ask that you forgive me." 

The old man looked so stricken and apologetic that Ray felt his anger start to dissipate. 

"Apology accepted. Thank you Mr. Mustafi." 

"The car ... is very beautiful. Runs perfectly." 

"Yes it is. My cousin is an excellent mechanic." 

"The laser mouse ...", he said in broken English, "is working good." 

"I'm glad to hear that." 

"No balls," the old Arab smiled. 

Ray smiled back. "So I heard." 

"Here, please accept this as part of my apology," he said as he placed something in Ray's hand. "Just take it ... I want you to have it." 

Ray felt the heavy, cool metal in his hand. Even in the poor lighting of the hallway, Ray saw the green and red metallic glint. Squinting, he pulled the object closer to his line of vision and saw the festive decoration of a smiling and waving Santa Claus flying across the night sky. 

Of course. 

It was a fruitcake. 

In disbelief, Ray read from the top of the tin. 

"Seasons Greetings 1998! It's three years old!" 

"It's still good!" Mr. Mustafi said defensively. "Make some strong black coffee, slice the cake thin and dip it in your coffee ... ah, delicious!" The old Arab pinched two fingers and thumb together and bringing them to his lips, looked heavenward and kissed them. The gesture was so very Italian and Ray felt like he could have been talking to any one of his uncles. 

"Well thank you, Mr. Mustafi." 

"Sure. Sure. Enjoy the fruitcake. And please thank Frasier for me." 

"I will do that." Ray watched the old man walk down the hallway. 

Mr. Mustafi stopped and suddenly turned. "Oh ... and when you're done, I want the tin back." 

"Certainly." 

After bidding Fraser's neighbor good night, Ray slid the fruitcake tin across the kitchen table. Settling comfortably into Mrs. Kresjopolov's overstuffed chair and placing his feet up on the ottoman, Ray's last memory was of pulling one of Fraser's down blankets over his shoulders. 

Exhausted, sleep overtook him. 

* * *

Groaning. 

Someone was groaning. 

Opening his eyes, Ray saw Benny shifting fretfully on the bed. His mind was fuzzy but his internal time sense told him it was late at night. 

Very late. 

His heart pounding, he looked at his watch. 3 A.M.! 

_Oh my God!_ Benny's neuro checks! Benny had to have neuro checks every two hours! He had fallen asleep just after 8 P.M. ... which meant that Benny had gone several hours unwatched. 

_Jesus Christ!_ Ray threw the comforter off his body and hopped out of the chair, nearly tripping over the blanket. He rushed to his lovers side. 

"Benny! What's wrong?" 

"Oh, Ray! My head! This headache! This headache is terrible." 

Ray looked around the room and remembered ... Harry's aspirin and cold packs. "I'll be right back with you, Benny. I know what will help." 

Ray stumbled into the kitchen and sliding his hands along the counter top, found the bottles of aspirin. In the darkness, he fumbled with opening one, removing the foil topping and cotton wadding from the neck. Opening the refrigerator, he took out a can of ginger-ale and an ice pack from the freezer. He wrapped a clean kitchen towel around the ice bag. 

Ray made his way to the bed as Fraser propped himself up on one elbow. 

"Here you go, buddy. Take some aspirin. This will help." Ray shook two tablets into Fraser's hand. "Take them down with some ginger-ale." 

Fraser swallowed the pills easily and to Ray`s delight drank half the can of soda. 

"Thank you, Ray," he said as he dropped back to the bed. 

"Is there anything else I can get for you?" Ray removed the can from Benny's lax hand and molded the ice pack to Fraser's brow. 

"Nothing. Hmm ..." Fraser smiled as the numbing power of the ice soothed his head. "That feels wonderful ... thank you." 

Benny's eyes drifted closed. He appeared to be asleep. 

Quietly circling around the room, Ray was unable to relax. His heart was thumping badly as the adrenalin raced through his body. Being startled awake like that was never one of his favorite things. Fear tinged thoughts plagued him. Benny had been unmonitored for seven hours! No way he could risk falling back to sleep. He'd just have to stay awake. 

Moving into the kitchen, Ray decided to make some strong black coffee and get something to eat. As the coffee boiled, the inspection of Benny's refrigerator yielded nothing ... just cans of ginger ale. The search of the cabinets provided nothing more ... just can after can of chicken noodle soup and tea. 

Ray gagged dramatically. 

He was not a tea drinker and he didn't like canned soup. In a moment of desperation, he wished Mrs. Duffy had come back with the cooked Jello. He glanced at his watch. 3:30 A.M. He could run out an all night mini-mart and get some frozen pizza ... 

As Ray poured himself a cup of coffee he looked to the bed and at his lover who had started shifting restlessly and moaning, the thought was quickly dashed. No way he'd leave Benny for a second. He might need him. 

But he was starving! He hadn't eaten this morning ... they had planned on having breakfast in Normal ... 

Ray glanced in desperation around the tiny apartment. What was there to eat? Anything? 

Then he spied _it_. 

Sitting innocuously in its shiny green and red tin on the kitchen table was Mr. Mustafi's 1998 fruitcake. 

Moving across the room with coffee in hand, Ray touched the can with is fingertip ... how bad could it be? Could anyone be so passionate about something that tastes so bad? 

He always enjoyed his mother's excellent fruitcake. It really couldn't hurt to try. Benny was always telling him to try something new ... 

Ray pried the lid off and the vacuum seal swooshed as it was broken. The heavenly smells of brandy, cherries, pineapple, brown sugar and nuts filled the tiny apartment. 

As Mr. Mustafi had instructed, Ray cut a small thin slice and dipped it into this coffee and hesitantly brought the moistened cake to his lips. His reward came when his mouth flooded with the delightful tastes of the fruitcake. It was not unlike his mother's biscotti only with a more fruit and nut flavor. 

Ray raised his eyebrows appreciatively. Wow! Mr. Mustafi was on to something here! He eagerly dipped the rest of the slice into his cup. 

From the bedroom, he could hear Benny having a one-sided argument with his father about Calvin letting the dogs out. 

Ray sliced himself a larger piece of fruitcake as he heard his lover defending himself. 

"It is not ... Calvin is a handsome name for a cat ... Biscuit? Whistles? No ... _you're_ being ridiculous ... neither name ... any cat that can pick a lock deserves a proper name ..." 

Dipping the cake into his coffee, Ray reflected that times like these were delicate. Chewing thoughtfully, he wondered should he interrupt the conversation? That would embarrass Benny who would just deny that he was speaking to his father anyway ... 

Fraser was deep into the argument with his father. "No! _You're_ sounding foolish! Calvin most certainly _did not_ have a `tiny set of kitty keys'. Grandfather and I fashioned several suitable ... well ... almost suitable locks ..." 

It would just be better to let Benny continue to speak with his dead father. As long as Benny didn't get overly agitated, he'd just let it be. After all, Fraser has been doing this almost for as long as he could remember ... and who was he to cast stones? Didn't his own father visit him? 

Besides, he had bigger fish to fry ... Just where he could get his hands on some fruitcakes this time of year? Didn't he recently see some on sale at the CVS? He'd have to check in the morning ... and he'd have to go early. He'd have to get there before Mr. Mustafi ... after all, the old man was down about thirty-six fruitcakes from the events of today. 

Ray dipped his third piece of cake into his coffee as he looked out over the twinkling lights of Chicago. 

Benny was having an argument with his father and he was eating a three year old cake and wondering where to get more. 

Oh yeah. 

It was good to be home. 

Things were definitely back to normal. 

~~~The End~~~ 

* * *

End The Normal Story by Karen Rossi:

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